


The Court of Slytherin

by collegecoffeebooks



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-22 08:10:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2500742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collegecoffeebooks/pseuds/collegecoffeebooks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you tweak the past before Hogwarts just the slightest bit everything changes. Harry, Draco, Hermione and Ron's lives change in the most minuscule ways. Change just enough to allow the wizarding world to be thoroughly shaken up with their entrance into Hogwarts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Court of Slytherin

Harry Potter was two when he learned how to cook breakfast. Fried eggs, toast, bacon, sausage, pancakes, waffles, omelets, grits and anything else his Aunt, Uncle, and cousin desired. Harry Potter was two when he spilled grease on his arm and two when cried in the cupboard and his magic nit his flesh together.

_Magic is alive and magic can see. Magic’s heir is here and magic cries. Magic talks to fate and fate changes the world to fit their needs._

Harry Potter is four the first time he asks about his parents. Why doesn’t he have a mummy and a daddy like Dudley does? He is slapped and thrown into his cupboard and shrieked at to not ask questions and that freaks don’t get parents. Freak, freak, freak. That’s all he’ll ever be is a freak.

_Fate twists and turns. Another birth, another death. The smartening of a child, the quickening of a watch. Tick tock, tick tock._

Harry Potter has always been a bit strange, a little bit odd. He’s always known that, just never been able to stop. The boy who can make his hair grow back over night, the boy who goes to sleep with broken bones and wakes up ready to cook. His Aunt screams at him, blames him for everything that's wrong around the house. His uncle beats him, breaks his bones, slaps his face, tells him he should have never been born. Dudley just watches with this look in his eye and he’s always standing near the phone when Harry wakes up.

_A boy given a conscious, a girl given knowledge. Two sisters for guides, a game at his side. Fate twists round and round, evening out the rocky ground._

Harry Potter has always known his place, always made sure to stay there. But now he’s no longer sure where that place is or how to get there. His Aunt and Uncle still firmly believe that his place is either crying on the floor or serving their needs. He had always believed them, he really had. And then mere minutes after his birthday, Hagrid had appeared. Going on about his parents being heroes and Harry being a wizard. Now Harry doesn’t know what to think.

Hagrid had told him of Voldermort and how his parents had been so, so brave. How they had loved Harry so much. And he believed Hagrid about them loving him, he really did. But he doesn’t think they sound all that brave. He thinks they sound scared and desperate and just plain terrified.

_Fates meddling is coming to end, the pieces are in place. Magic thanks fate and fate thanks magic. The children run about, soon to be united._

Harry follows Hagrid into London and he thinks about his parents and about growing up alone, and that last thing he thinks before entering the leaky cauldron is that, if being brave meant abandoning the people you love, then he didn't want to be brave.  

 

* * *

Draco Malfoy was a snob. Ask him and he’ll tell you as much himself. The only son of one of the oldest pure-blood families in Britain, he’ll tell you.A smirk on his face and his sisters by his side.

When Draco was a little over a year old he stood with his father, staring down into the crib that held his new-born baby sister. They had been at the hospital for a long time, and his daddy had been screaming and the doctors were yelling and when he finally saw his mum her eyes were red and there was blood on her hands. That was the night he met Cassiopeia Leticia Malfoy. His newborn baby sister. And his father told him in serious tones to never let anything happen to her and to remember to always protect her with his life. And he had nodded seriously and given her his favorite toy dragon.

Because protecting people meant giving them things that meant something to you, right?

When Draco was four and Cass three, his parents set them down and told them in serious tones that they were Malfoy's and Malfoy's were the best. They told them to never speak to mudbloods or half-bloods. To only associate with the best.  That anyone not a pure-blood was below them, beneath them and to never forget. His father had smirked, his mother smiled,he had smiled and nodded and prepared to leave and Cass had asked why. Why? Why? Why? Why are they less? But what if they’re nice? But what if they’re pretty? But what if they’re smart? Why? Why? Why?

His father’s smirked slipped away, his mother had frowned and he had started wondering the same things. Why?

When Draco was eight and Cass was seven, his parents set them down and told them in serious tones that while they where old and their parents, sometimes they made mistakes. They told them to never base their views on peoples blood and to base their views instead on whether they were nice or kind or smart. His father had frowned, his mother had smiled and he had nodded slowly because that actually made sense. Cass said of course and skipped away to do whatever she did when Draco wasn’t by her side.

His father smiled, his mother had sighed and he had laughed and gone outside to fly.

He thinks they will all, always be grateful that Cass was born and that his mother had lived. He thinks that they’ll all always be thankful that Cass questions and leads and doesn’t allow anyone to lead her astray. He doesn’t like to think about what would have happened had Cass not been born. He doesn’t think he would have like himself very much.

When he’s nine his mother apparates in the sitting room, holding a little girl that is covered in blood. Covered in blood and crying. Crying silently, crying as if she doesn’t think she’s allowed to cry. That night, while his mother is caring for Nasrin, his father explains to Cass and him what abuse is. He explains that sometimes people are born to the wrong family or they pick the wrong people to love and that these people get hurt. He says that no one should ever have to put up with that, especially not a child. Draco nods and frowns & Cass asks if Nasrin was supposed to be born into their family instead?

A year later it’s hard to remember what they did before they had Nasrin.

When he turns eleven he overhears Nott telling Zabini that real pure-bloods are proud and strong and not afraid to hurt people if the people are beneath them. He doesn’t here Zabini’s answer because he walks away frowning, thinking that if real pure-bloods hurt people, maybe he won’t be a real pure-blood at all.

* * *

Ron Weasley learned the basics of chess when he was four and by the time he was seven he could give Bill a run for his money. It didn't take long until Bill was the only one who could still beat him.

Ron Weasley was the 2nd youngest child out of seven. Nothing special, nothing great. Not all that smart & not all that funny. Sure he was a little good at chess, but that was about it. He was just another Weasley destined to be in Gryffindor. Destined to amount to nothing. Destined to be forgotten.

_Ron heard the people whisper behind his back and quietly he seethed._

At eight and a half he almost convinced Ginny to pick up a garden gnome and attempt to keep it as a pet. Molly screamed at for an hour when she caught them.

_Ginny never forgave him._

So he learned to evade Fred and George’s jokes and the best way to lay out the evidence of why it was their doing and not his. Molly forgot about the gnome incident, too happy to finally be able to figure out how the twins were causing so much trouble.

 _Ginny never forgot_.

At nine, Bill taught him to treat life like a giant chess game; to treat everything he did as one more move. One more move to winning.

When he stumbled upon Charlie kissing his friend Evan he said nothing. When Evan left a week later without Charlie ever saying anything to mum he said nothing. A month later when his mum started harping at Charlie to find a nice girl he said nothing. When Charlie said he would, he just wasn’t interested in relationships he grinned.

_Yes you are, Charlie. You’re interested in relationships, just not with girls. Remember Evans?_

He’ll never forget their faces or the way Bill doubled over laughing and shot him a thumbs up. He doesn’t think Charlie ever forgave him for that.

When he was ten Fred and George came back from Hogwarts with wands and spells on their lips. With joke products and new ways to make his life hell. He took his magic and he bent it to his will. Another day, another move. Another play, another piece. And what could they say, he had no wand, no knowledge of spells. It was just accidental magic, _truly truly._ And if it started happening more often, well maybe they should leave him alone.

The day after he turned eleven and got his acceptance letter to Hogwarts, his father asked him if he was excited to be sorted into Gryffindor. His father sat there and acted as if there was no way for him to be in any other house. The second youngest of seven children. Just another Weasley to be forgotten. So, he smiled and he nodded and he got excited but all the while he was scheming.

When Ron Weasley was four, for the first time he heard someone insult his family and had someone tell him he would only ever be just another Weasley. Five years later those words guaranteed that Ron would never let himself be, just another Weasley.

* * *

Hermione Granger was smart and polite and every teacher's dream. Everybody said it, so it must be true.But what none of them knew, was that Hermione Granger was special, in more ways than one.

It had begun a week after her seventh birthday, a new family had moved in across the street and as the daughter walked down the street she found Hermione being bullied by a group of girls from her school.

_Buck tooth beaver. Know-it-all. Friendless. Loser._

Enter Marie Korovin, a half-English, half-Russian spit fire who had been learning to fight since she was born. The bullies never stood a chance and by the end of it, Hermione had her first friend.

_‘Mione & Marie. Always together. Always learning. Always striving._

The first time Marie saw Hermione doing magic she almost got hit by a car running to tell her mom. Hermione's parents were understandably wary. The explanation did little to sooth them, a pure-blooded witch for a mother & a Russian ex-spy for a father, how was their child as normal as she was? But they couldn't deny Hermione her only friend & and they couldn't deny her a whole other world of knowledge. And so the lessons started.

Lessons on etiquette, on how to behave in pure-blood society, on how to dress, how to talk. Lessons on magical history, on the theory behind charms, transfiguration, potions. Lessons from her dad on how to fight the non-magical way. Lessons on how to break somebody’s nose, how to break every single bone in the body, pressure points, where to kick, to punch, to hit, how to escape. Lessons on everything they would need to survive in the world.

Hermione Granger constantly searched for knowledge. Constantly came up with goals and ambitions for them both.

Marie Korovin kept her from losing herself. Showed her the best way to get to her goals, not the easiest.

_‘Mione & Marie. Always plotting. Always scheming. Never apart, always together. ‘Mione & Marie._

**  
**


End file.
